Demon's Souls - No Mercy

Author's Note: I want to do more chapters, and fics for other characters too, but I'm not going to promise anything because I find doing so makes me feel "obligated" to write and it stops being fun for me AND for the reader. Creative angles tend to get lost in merely pounding something out to get it done. This chapter may undergo revision in the future; I'm not 100% satisfied with it. I can also provide the visual references I used in writing this if desired, though my response will come a half a week later since I'll be gone from tonight (1/20) to Sunday or Monday.

"Ah heh heh heh heh." Miralda raised her axe high, swinging for another tearing blow.

Yuria rolled back, staring in awe at the cleave Miralda's Guillotine Axe made in the Execution Grounds' stony platform. Through the doorway, she saw Miralda's rank disposal pit, the fate of all traitors to the King. A cesspool of filthy water at its bottom housed the remains of countless good-hearted soldiers. Good-hearted soldiers... and Vallarfax of the Twin Fangs.

His aid proved invaluable in her quest for power through the souls of demons, drawing upon the essence they offered to enhance her own gifts. Every floating wave of white energy contained a life's worth of wicked deeds, the vile forms of magic she learned cursing her like the plagues of the Valley of Defilement. Through such evils, she could cast Soul Thirst, Firestorm, tapping into the raw taint on a blade's edge from becoming a demon herself. Her body was the perfect vessel for the Old One's power, for the Demon's souls.

Yet she found herself cowed, by the maniac with an axe. Her stout protector lay dead in Miralda's pit, her magic exhausted, her Spices consumed. Lacking options, she raised her Wooden Catalyst and jabbed at the madwoman. A direct hit! The point of her wand pressed against layers of Binded Cross.

Her hope snuffed out like a flame to water when she pulled back to see the armor set undamaged, Miralda's maniac laugh capping her failure.

"Foolish traitor to the King!" Miralda's accent stung. "I will show no mercy to a filthy little witch."

Yuria looked to the stairs. On their ascent, Vallarfax decimated a small band of slave soldiers to reach this spot, the Crescent Moon Grasses that remained lining a path back to the Archstone like the bread crumbs of a childhood tale. Jolting to her feet, she sprinted for her escape. Just as she reached the first flight, her foot rose in midstep, her body lifted by the back of her robes. Caught in Executioner Miralda's tight grip, she gave in after a few futile kicks.

"Are you going... to kill me?" she asked. Miralda's hot breath warmed her neck, licking down the back of her gaping collar as she dangled. The executioner's coarse cloth hood rubbed against her skin.

"Why would I kill you, whore of the dark arts? You have so many more uses." Turning her new pet to face her, Miralda pulled her mask off. She tousled her hair, framing her pristine features with a wild mane of white. Her chin mole rose with her naughty grin, her green eyes blinking as she savored the new morsel in her throes.

Her hand descended, to the rope belt at Yuria's waist, running her calloused fingers along the glowing stone at one side. "Is that an Augite of Souls?"


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Soft white light radiated from under her robes as she walked. The chains dug into her wrists, an occasional tug upon them reminding her of the menace of Miralda's axe should she try to flee. Not that she could; her iron bindings formed a tether to the king's executioner, wrapped around the chains across Miralda's chest.

Over the roasted bridge and through the fog gates, she marched. Her head hung in defeat, stepping over the wooden shambles of barricades and wagons until she saw the looming, flapping shadow of a fearsome beast. Her gaze darted upward, the dragon's wings beating wind enough to nearly blow off her three-cornered hat. Against her will, she gawked and trembled, paralyzed by the beast's screech.

"Are you afraid?" Miralda mocked.

"It's a dragon!"

"It won't hurt you, slave. Only I, Miralda, can teach you the meaning of pain. Move, or I will rape you here."

Pressed from both sides, she took the path that calmed the rapid thump of her heart.

Her feet carried her forward.

"Good witchling," Miralda said. "Turn your hips when you walk, I want the King's men to notice the vile ass of a traitorous witch."

Sighing, Yuria obeyed. Her robes' long, tattered skirt billowed behind her with every step. The threat of Miralda's axe poked into her back, urging on the expression of her rump, the cloth's suggestive tease of its size only outdone by the white glow emanating from beneath its flimsy layer.

She blinked, disbelieving the bows of Boletarian soldiers and blue-eyed knights as they passed down the narrow corridor toward another gate. Their silence should have comforted her, for their lack of speech offered freedom from the same abuse she received for insulting Saint Urbain's holy order with her profane witchcraft. Yet, their eyes spoke of hunger and disdain, a barbaric thirst for souls shining upon her... and reflecting her own dark lust.

She entered another fog gate, peering along the walls as her keeper prodded her onward. Archers stood ready to fire, every crossbow angled to pierce her weak defenses at a single command from the executioner. And standing before her was a giant, armor and shield oversized with the same spirit aura as the tip of its lance. The wide arch of its legs allowed passage to the large wooden gate behind it, a lone Fat Official on the highest ledge laughing as it patted its large belly. All but the eminence of souls and the shuffle of her feet lay quiet, tiny squeaks eeking out of her chain bondage.

Right as she reached the fort's center, she froze, wincing in horror as she felt it slip from her tight clench and clatter on the ground between her feet.

"What was that?" Miralda asked.

"You know-," Yuria's voice caught in her throat as Miralda moved around front to show her wicked sneer. Empty or not, the mad executioner's cruel, unyielding visage forced her to maintain the ruse. "It's nothing, mistress."

Miralda smirked, delight glowing in her eyes. "I love when my slaves call me mistress. I will see for myself."

Yuria's face paled, then flushed red as her heart pounded. "You said... I would be safe if I obeyed!"

Miralda spun her witch pet, unlatching the chains that tied them together. Dropping her large axe, she grabbed at the hem of Yuria's skirt. A peck on the neck. She could smell the witch's fear, taste it on her prey's flesh as she licked a fresh bead of sweat. Rummaging within the robes, a grab of Yuria's soft butt cheeks brought out the most delicious groan of shame to come from any of her slaves.

Miralda leaned into the witch's ear and whispered, "I will show no mercy to a traitor to the King."

One upward swoop bunched the back of Yuria's wide skirt up to her waist, the white light of her rump exposed for all of Boletaria's men to see. The heat in her face flowed down into her chest. Bent forward by inches, the Fat Official's guffaw pricked her pride, Miralda's wandering fingers prying her ass cheeks apart to show off the madwoman's earlier work as if some shocking new discovery.

"Soldiers," Miralda announced, "look at Yuria's arse. A whore of the dark arts has no shame. Beware of this witch, she may hide other things inside these dark places."

"You placed that Augite inside my body!" Yuria protested. Her reward came quick and sharp, a yelp forcing its way out her lips from a hard, loud smack to her rear with Miralda's gloved hand.

"You shall not lie to these men. I will inspect your tainted witch pussy for more of your secrets." Miralda knelt, hovering inches from the witch's rump.

"No! You can't!"

As she said it, the back of her skirt dropped, draping the executioner behind a curtain of black cloth. Her eyes wandered across the bars of tiny prison cells, and the many poor souls they could hold. She looked to the fog gate, two blue-eyed knights peering in toward her. She scanned the walls, all archers staring upon her as target and prisoner. They were an army... and an audience. Her every nervous twitch and fidget never escaped their notice, that much she saw in their tiny gestures.

It burned, hotter than the fire pits of Stonefang Tunnel, to stand before them in this manner. Each second stretched on, over a dozen soldiers witness to her rough cavity search. The back of her robes jutted out with the curve of Miralda's head, shifting while madwoman played between her thighs. Beside her knees. Along her inner thighs. The woman's digits crept nearer, sending a shiver as they trailed closer to their inevitable goal. Her head bowed and her hat pitched down her forehead, whimpering as she spread her legs for Miralda.

"Aha! You thought you could hide a few grasses," Miralda said. "I must look closer inside your pussy."

"I beg of you, Miralda. Take me to my cell and search my body in private. I do not wish to put my disgrace on display for these soul-starved men."

"Ah heh heh heh heh."

The impure song of Miralda's laughter, angelic and soft, lulled her into a small jump when the executioner probed deeper between her nether lips. Her dark, wispy pubes swirled at Miralda's playful tracing. In another instant, the thin, light Crescent Moon Grasses pulled from her loins as the executioner burrowed her fingers in and out to retrieve them. With each digit spreading her mons about, she prayed the woman would end her humiliation.

"Oh!" Yuria's hips jerked as the one item to slip from her loins dug back into them under Miralda's guidance. Her teeth and groin clenched equally from the invasion. Her eyes fluttered, the catalyst tapping deep into her womb as its wooden length grated against her pussy's inner walls.

"I found your weapon." Removing the thin stick, Miralda rolled out from under Yuria's skirt and spun the witch to face her once more. The catalyst dripped, its thin coat of wetness soaking into her Binded Gloves. Smirking, she raised it to Yuria's lips. "Taste your taint, witch."

"I-," Yuria gagged as the executioner forced the wand in her mouth. Her juices slathered over her tongue, their bitter smell mingling with their chalky taste. To her shock, her eyes clouded over with the vision of what every drop coating to the roof of her mouth revealed of her own soul.

Sage Freke's knowledge came from understanding the essence of a demon's soul. Saint Urbain's gifts grew out of prayer and worship. In her own pursuit of power, she found the demon's energy and channeled it, tainting the shrine of her body.

This time, it lingered in the back of her throat. Its aftertaste washed to bring newly Cursed Breath, each exhale blowing purple mist into Miralda's face. With a single strong whiff, the executioner stepped back and cackled with glee.

"Do you see, wretched witch? None in Boletaria respect your kind. You corrupt your pretty body and soul to use the power of demons and never become one. I shall let you keep the Augite inside your arse. It shines light on the dark arts you hide between your wicked legs."

"I am no whore!" Yuria's purple breath puffed. "Why must you do such cruel things to me?"

Miralda brushed Yuria's black hair behind her ear, her mad grin stretching to her cheeks. "You are my pet, and I will make you beg to crawl at my feet like the traitorous dog you are. Uwa ha ha ha ha!"